Strange and Beautiful
by Concupiscence66
Summary: Dan spends a day as a store Santa.


Title: Strange and Beautiful

Author: Concupid

Pairing: Dan/Jones

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Store Santas, explicit sex, drugs, language, it's Nathan Barley. All the warnings that go with every episode.

Summary: Dan spends a day as a store Santa.

Author's note: Bluestocking79 takes part of the blame for this, for putting the thought in my head. Ideserveyou gets a share of the blame for doing a Brit pick for me. Everyone who has ever encouraged me to write Nathan Barley and/or porn: you get your share of blame as well.

"Little kiddies sit in your lap, tell you what they want for Christmas," Jonatton Yeah? explained.

"I know what a store Santa does..." Dan sputtered, "But, why me?"

Jonatton nodded towards Nathan Barley, who explained, "Someone told me about a story where a guy dresses like an elf..."

"That would be David Sedaris. He's actually quite famous, as is the piece you 'heard about'. It's been written, and written well, you useless piece of shit," Dan wagged his finger between Nathan and Jonatton so they knew they were both included in the insult, "So what's the point in me re-writing his story? It's just derivative and stupid."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dan realized how foolish they were. 'Derivative and stupid' was practically the motto of Sugar Ape. There was a reason Jonatton was bringing Nathan Barley in for oxymoronic "brainstorming" sessions.

Jonatton looked serious for a moment, "David Sedaris is sweet and charming, non-threatening in his sexuality. Dan Ashcroft is a fucking train wreck, capable of scaring children for life, and maybe putting something special up Mrs. Claus' chimney."

Nathan fell out of his chair laughing. He was a prepubescent boy in a mannish body.

"Those are real kids, Jonatton. That builder is still calling me..." more wails of laughter from Nathan, "What if you get sued?"

Jonatton shrugged, "It'll still be worth the publicity, and the attention we'll get across the pond. It's a global market, Dan. Americans like horrible Christmas stories. Besides, I had a Father Christmas try to pull my mum while I was in his lap, and look at how I turned out?"

"How do you sleep at night?" Dan asked, already defeated in the face of his kryptonite, pure cynicism.

Jonatton gave a lazy shrug and wave of his hand, "Completely naked, on a pile of money."

xxx

It was less than a month until Christmas, and Dan was skint. He never had much money, but it was a bit more pathetic at Christmas. He loathed the brightly wrapped gift under the "tree" Jones had made entirely of wire hangers. It was a gift from Claire, and she seemed very proud of it. That meant it was either expensive or terribly thoughtful. Either way, Dan was incapable of reciprocity. He was impoverished in every way possible. This story was easy money, plus he'd get paid for a day of being a Santa. Win-win, if you considered selling your soul and traumatizing children a winning type of situation. Clearly, Jonnaton Yeah? thought so.

So he pulled on his red suit (no doubt crawling with vermin), and hat (he hadn't washed his hair in a week, anything that tried to climb on would surely slide right back off), and boots. The pillow he was using for a round stomach looked like a pillow, and his real scruff showed beneath his fake beard. Dan couldn't remember a Father Christmas who hadn't reeked of fags and boozw, but he'd grown up during a more innocent time. Santa had smoked while you sat in his lap, much like the doctor would smoke while he put a cast on your arm. It was a given that, high-stress job that he had, Santa would be a bit of a boozer. You don't get a round belly from Christmas cake, you get that from lager.

Now, children were exposed to constant images of rape and murder, but smoking was taboo.

Dan thought of Ned Smanks' story of having a drunken store Santa vomit on him, and the Father Christmas that put his hand under Claire's bum. Who could say if those traumas had really affected them? Maybe a fucked up experience with a trusted symbol of childhood was simply a rite of passage, part of becoming an adult. Dan inhaled two cigarettes at once and took a long drink of his "eggnog" (spiced rum, at least it smelled a bit festive), and headed out to ruin some childhoods.

xxx

"Why would you want that rubbish? Wouldn't you rather have a proper toy?" Dan asked, getting ready to push the little shit off his lap.

The little shit narrowed his eyes, "How come you don't bring presents to Jews?"

Dan never got a chance to answer the perfectly reasonable question, the little shit's mother was already scooping him up into her arms.

"That's right," Dan sneered, "What he needs is _more_ coddling."

Dan watched the woman storm off with her arms full of future Nathan Barley. Or worse, future Dan Ashcroft.

xxx

Dan hadn't thought to bring a weapon, it didn't seem in the spirit of Father Christmas, but as Nathan and Pingu approached, he realized he'd had a serious lapse in judgment.

He should have put a knife in his boot, worn a knuckleduster.

Pingu looked apologetic as he held the camera. Dan wondered how many Santas had traumatized his fragile brain while growing up.

"This is Nathan Barley reporting... No, we're not _re_porting anything because we are the first ones on the scene! We are the first people porting this story. We are here with the King of the Idiots, himself, Dan Ashcroft. Dan, here, is well undercover as a store Santa. He's here, exposing the seamy underside of Christmas... I hope that's all you're exposing, 'cause some of these elves are fit... Yeah, I'm looking at you, sugar muff."

As in any situation requiring quick thinking or self-respect, Dan froze up. He sat in shock as Nathan plopped down in his lap, shoving a microphone in his face.

"Tell me what the idiots are up to this season. Give us some Linus quality philosophy, Preacher Man."

"Fuck off," Dan snapped. An elf looked appalled, a couple of families left in a huff. Dan felt slightly worse than he had felt a moment earlier.

"C'mon, Preach. Give us a sound bite about how Christmas is well commercial and..." Nathan was clearly straining for a second 'deep' issue regarding the holidays, "and all that shit."

Dan looked into the camera, "To all the fans and followers of .ck, do everyone a favor and kill yourself."

"That's the Preacher Man, laying some harsh truths on us all for Christmas. Peace and fucking. Barley out."

Nathan jumped from Dan's lap with a wide grin, "Excellent, Preach. Any time you want to sign on as a full time correspondent..."

"I honestly wish you were dead," Dan said, long past hoping to offend Nathan Barley. At this point, he just wanted some sign there was a human somewhere inside the idiot suit.

Nathan laughed, "Keep keepin' it real, Dan Ashcroft."

xxx

He saw Claire coming, and was possibly a bit abrupt with the children in line ahead of her. He just wanted to get the lecture over with.

"Green, yellow... Does it really matter? Can't you just paint it a different color if I screw up?"

Apparently, it did matter, because the boy was crying as his mother scooped him up with an angry huff. Dan hadn't been huffed at so often since he published a newsletter for his church as a child. Apparently Henry the VIII had still been a touchy subject in the C of E.

Claire perched herself on Dan's knee.

"You know my leg is covered in piss?" he warned her.

"Theirs?" Claire asked with a nod to the hoards of children, "or yours?"

It was unkind, but not totally unwarranted.

"So what would you like for Christmas?"

"I want my big brother back," Claire said with her usual mix of bossiness and disappointment, "I want the brother who, when I was ten, made me re-write my essay on why 'Milk is Good for Me', and include the fact the research on the benefits of milk are mixed, and the political pressure driving the definitions of 'nutrition'. I'm still proud of that paper."

"That was the only bad mark you ever got, Mum never let me help you with your homework again," Dan reminded her. He hoped his beard was hiding his smile. It had been a bit of a set up, it was annoying to have a little sister be such a do-gooder, but little Claire had really stepped up to the challenge. He'd been proud of her.

Claire looked wistful, "I wanted to write more papers like it..."

Dan sighed, "What do you want from me, Claire?"

"Don't do this. Don't let people do this to you, don't... don't try to fucking please people or be something you're not. Just be your usual, asshole self. The world needs self-righteous pricks like you to counterbalance the Nathan Barleys of the world. Don't... don't give in."

"Should I just get up and leave?" he asked, feeling some sort of emotion in his chest, "Take off the hat and beard, and leave? I'm too sober to make a scene, I don't know what to do."

"God, no, Dan!" Claire was back to bossy and disappointed, "These are little kids! You can't ruin Santa for them. Tell the elves you have the shits and have to go."

Dan held up a hand when the "delivery elf" tried to bring him another child. He waved her over and prepared to whisper his story of severe intestinal distress.

"I can't take the next kid..."

The elf gave a curt nod and whispered, "Got it," before yelling, "Uh-oh! Santa had to many mince pies! He needs a potty break!"

Dan wandered back into the cardboard house, where the "gift elf" gave him a sympathetic shrug, "Happens to everyone, man. Those young girls think it's cute, but you can't have a Santa with a boner."

Dan wanted to correct him, but somehow saying, "That was my sister," seemed unlikely to make the situation less uncomfortable.

So he just walked away, unsettling thoughts of santas and sisters dancing in his head.

xxx

The story was tremendously popular. Dan Ashcroft's strike on behalf of self-righteous pricks struck a chord with the readers. Everyone liked to believe they were somehow more important and special than the next guy, and Dan's article supported the view. Dan could have written a caveat, mentioning that being a selfish ass only qualified as an attribute when you worked at a shitty magazine, but it seemed ungenerous. Christmas was supposed to be about _everyone_ having a feeling of inflated self-importance.

Jonatton had gone all out for the Holiday Party booze buffet. As a result, Dan was willingly dressed in a rented Santa suit, while his article was projected on the wall behind him. Nathan Barley had sat in his lap and anointed him Danta Claus. Instead of the appropriate response, swearing and flying fists, Dan had laughed. It was all a bit of a blur, but he remembered sweaty palms gripping his cheeks and dry lips on his mouth. Nathan then looked him in the eye for far too long before running off to tell everyone about his terribly clever play on Dan's name. Dan was scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand when he suddenly had a lap full of flat mate.

"Did you just snog Nathan Barley?" Jones asked, his eyes inhumanly wide.

"What are you on?" Dan asked, mildly concerned. Jones had been pushing his limits more and more, and Dan worried about him following in the footsteps of his namesake.

Jones shrugged, "How much have you had to drink? Back to what's important. Did you just kiss Nathan fucking Barley on the mouth?"

"He kissed me."

It was a lame answer, but it was true. Jones looked mildly disappointed.

"He's going to end up killing you and making a leisure suit of your skin," Jones warned (not for the first time), "You know that, right?"

It was Dan's turn to shrug. He only seemed capable of inspiring two kinds of love: scary or guilt-laden. Sasha had already taken her turn sitting in Dan's lap. She said what she wanted for Christmas was more articles from Dan like the one on the wall. Somewhere in the realm of possibility was a Dan that Sasha could love. Dan had made peace with the fact he would never live up to his potential. It was too fucking hard.

"What would you like for Christmas, little boy?" Dan asked, bouncing Jones on his knee. He had to reach out and grab Jones by the tee-shirt before he fell off of Dan's lap.

"Whoa, there! You need to slow down... and avoid swimming pools."

Jones stuck his tongue out, like a petulant child.

"What do you want for Christmas? Some uppers, some downers..."

Jones bit his lip, and looked thoughtful. Dan almost (almost!) wished he were a little more sober, so he could have a clue what was going on in his friend's mind.

The first strains of a Spice Girl song and Jones snapped back to reality, "Fucking Smanks! I have to get back to the tables before this party comes to a screeching halt."

Jones jumped off of Dan's lap and started to jog towards the DJ set-up. Dan was waxing philosophical about Jones' strange behavior, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Jones plopped back into his lap.

"I forgot to tell you what I wanted for Christmas," Jones explained.

And then he told Dan what wanted. What he really, really wanted.

Zig a zig ah.

xxx

Dan did not expect Jones to show up. He was clearly off his tits and confused. Christmas and drugs could do that to a person. Still, Dan couldn't _not_ be at the upstairs bathroom at midnight.

Dan stood in front of the closed door and thought. His last sexual encounter in a men's room had been for an article, and it had been dreadful.

If Dan had ever had to seduce a woman, he would still be a virgin. He could only assume women had sex with him for some Darwinian purpose. He certainly wasn't capable of spreading his own genes.

The door flew open less than a second after Dan's knuckles hit the wood.

Jones heaved a relieved sounding sigh, "Thought you were standing me up."

It would have been nice to have something clever to say, but Dan's mind was blank. He could only think, _"Why?" _Dan knew from experience, that when it came to sex, it was better not to ask questions.

Jones grabbed him by the hair and pulled him down for a kiss. Within minutes, their pants were around their ankles and Jones was working both their cocks with one dexterous hand.

Dan was precariously close to coming. He felt like a teenager again. He and Jones weren't so much kissing as trying to fuse their bodies together from the lips down. Dan was comfortable enough in his sexuality to admire male beauty. He had always appreciated Jones' unconventional good looks, and easy sexuality. Jones made sex seem fun, instead of intimidating and shame-filled. Dan had more than one wank imagining what it would be like to have sex with Jones, or, to use Jones' turn of phrase, bum him silly.

Dan clamped his hand over Jones', "I'm gonna come, do you still want to..."

"Fuck yeah. I really, really want to," Jones whimpered, "I got the stuff right here."

Jones' kicked off his trousers and found two foil packets. He ripped the packet of lube open with his teeth. Dan thought about Nathan Barley's sweaty hands and dry mouth. He tried to imagine it was Nathan he was about to bend over a bathroom sink. He was just starting to regain some self-control, when Jones jumped up on the edge of the sink, his legs spread wide as he began stretching himself for Dan.

"Jon- Brian..."

"Don't call me that!" Jones whined as he slid a finger inside of himself, "Too much pressure in the Brian world. Ferry, Eno..."

"The other Jones?" Dan offered.

Jones smiled, "I like that. _He's_ 'the other Jones'. He was just a Rolling Stone, I'm the legend."

Dan watched a second finger disappear, "In my book, you're a fucking legend, Mr. Jones."

Jones gave a cheeky grin, "A fucking legend. Maybe that can be your next article."

Dan imagined Jonatton Yeah? watching and giving a finger clap as he pushed into Jones. He was so tight, it was almost frightening. Dan felt like he might get lost in Jones.

"I need to stop drinking," he mumbled to himself as he tried to concentrate on anything _but_ the tight heat gripping his cock. He could feel Jones laughter moving all through his body. Jones laughed like he did everything (including fucking), with every fiber of his being.

"Stay focused, Ashcroft," he teased.

Dan admired the way Jones' hands flexed as he gripped the bathroom sink. Jones had more passion in his hands than Dan had in his entire body. When he placed one of his oversized hands on top of Jones', he was treated to a gasp.

"Fucking hell, Dan."

Dan kissed the tense muscles of Jones' neck, relishing every enthusiastic moan and feral grunt. It was no surprise Jones was loud during sex, he lived for sound. Dan had a feeling his own half-mumbled curses probably weren't as exciting as Jones would have liked. Dan became a writer because he had a lot to say, and seemed incapable of expressing himself out loud.

"Christ, Dan, you feel so good. So fucking amazing," Jones whimpered. Dan stared at their reflection in the mirror. Dan was still wearing his Santa hat. It seemed fitting. Jones would open his eyes for a moment, but kept squeezing his eyes shut asecond later. Dan wrapped his hand around Jones' cock and gave him a few light strokes.

"Almost there," Jones cried, "Faster."

Dan gripped Jones hips and obliged. He envied the way Jones was fully engaged in the act, sweating and moaning with no self-consciousness, as Dan did his best not to embarrass himself. Jones yelled Dan's name when he came.

Dan had never heard someone yell his name during an actual orgasm. When he heard, "I'm coming, Dan", he always assumed it was code for, "You can finish up, now. I haven't got all day."

Dan marveled for a moment, muttering, "Fuck" as he promptly came and collapsed on top of Jones.

He felt weak and boneless as Jones' maneuvered him. Left to his own devices, Dan would have fallen asleep on Jones' sweaty back. Instead, he was slumped against the door as Jones kissed him. Jones' hands were tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to sting. He kept promising Dan that it had been "good" and "hot" and "amazing". Dan wondered how pathetic he looked if Jones felt the need to be so reassuring.

"Dan, I have to go back to the tables," Jones explained, between kisses, "before your boyfriend tries to change the programming. Thanks, Danta Claus."

Dan couldn't help but return Jones' infectious smile, "Did you get what you wanted?"

Jones did not meet his eyes, and his smile was forced as he said, "Yeah. That was genius."

Dan was drunk, sweaty and confused. Then he tried to take a step with his pants still around his ankles.

He was drunk, sweaty, confused and on the ground. He hoped he didn't have a concussion.

xxx

"Dan! Dan! Dan!" Claire was screaming and Dan couldn't find a pillow to throw at her.

Then he realized he was on a bathroom floor. It was a slow process to put the pieces back together, but he managed to get his clothes back on and toss a paper towel over the used johnny in the trash before opening the door.

"Christ, Dan, you had me worried," Claire yelled. Much like her love and admiration, Claire's concern usually came in the form of anger.

"I was just... passed out," Dan explained, though it seemed obvious. It was hardly the first time.

"I know what you were doing," Claire snapped, "Let's get you home before you do anything else stupid."

"Did Jones tell you..." it was impossible to discuss sex with his sister. When she was fifty, she would be his baby sister.

"I managed to work it out myself, Dan," Claire snapped, grabbing Dan by the collar and pulling him down the hall, "I do have eyes."

"You're not surprised?" Dan asked. He was still surprised, and if it weren't for the used johnny, he would have chalked it up to an alcohol induced hallucination.

Clair sighed, "No, Dan, I'm not surprised."

"Why are you so upset?" Dan asked, taking in Claire's extra furrowed brow, "Do you fancy Jones?"

Claire threw her hands in the air, "Do I fancy Jones? Are you serious? Are you actually that thick? I've lived with the two of you for two years! I've seen all those looks, the way he lights up when you walk into a room like some cheesy romance novel..."

"What looks?" Dan asked, suddenly feeling paranoid. He had been pretty certain he was a heterosexual up until a few hours ago. If Dan had been gazing at Jones, someone should have mentioned it to him.

"Jones really fancies you, Dan. He doesn't care if you ever bathe or how loudly you snore, he just loves you. Don't you see how special that is?"

Dan let himself be dragged down the stairs and through the party. When Jones looked up, he looked relieved. Dan returned his friendly smile, and was confused when Jones suddenly looked away.

"Is Jones angry with me?"

Claire rolled her eyes, "You're an idiot, Dan."

It was a valid point, but it didn't answer his question.

"What should I do?" he asked, helplessly, "How do I make things better?"

Claire softened, as she often did when her mental superiority was acknowledged, "That depends on what you want. Do you want things to go back to the way they were, or do you... Ugh! Men are so stupid!"

Another valid point.

"Can you go away?" Dan asked, a germ of an idea taking shape in his possibly concussed brain.

"What?"

"For the night? Is there somewhere you can stay? Not with Barely!" Dan gripped Claire's shoulders and tried to will her to listen to him for once, "He snogged me and I think he had a hard-on both times he sat in my lap..."

"What are you talking about, Dan?"

"If you were gone, I could... light some candles? I don't know... he'll want to pick the music, but..."

Dan was cut off as Claire knocked the wind from his body with an over-zealous hug.

"I'll figure something out," she promised, "I'm so proud of you!"

Dan made his way to the turntables. He and Jones exchanged nods before Dan curled up on the ground next to Jones, and waited for the throbbing beat of the blasting music to lull him to sleep. Claire was proud of him, because he was planning of having romantic sex, in a bed, with his best friend. It was a strange world.

He pried his eyes open and caught Jones smiling down at him.

It was a strange and beautiful world.


End file.
